


Into the Fold

by philote_auctor



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philote_auctor/pseuds/philote_auctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly a lifetime removed from his own adventure, Digory Kirke is given the unique gift of caring for Narnia’s new kings and queens. He’d be lying if he said the experience did not shake him to his core.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Fold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moriwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriwen/gifts).



> Written for Moriwen in the Narnia fic exchange 2014. Moriwen, I must thank you for your prompt. I had never written Digory and would probably not have considered writing him if not for the inspiration you stirred. (We actually matched on another of your prompt choices, but I felt drawn to this one and decided to attempt it.) I have greatly enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading!

Oo

_Did you wrap Yourself inside the unexpected_

_So we might know that love would go that far?*_

oOo

“You realize, of course, that this is all your fault.”

Polly set down her teacup and turned a fiery gaze upon him. “What exactly are you blaming me for now, Digory Kirke?”

Digory fought to keep the grin off his lips. Bickering with her never failed to make him feel young again. He looked out from the balcony towards the lawn and nodded at the four figures playing some game on the expanse of grass. “Children. Living under my roof. In _my_ keeping! The ladies thought I’d gone quite barmy when I brought it up.”

Polly shook her head fondly. “I still love that you call them ‘the ladies.’”

He shrugged. The four women who worked in his household were the people he interacted with most consistently. They were his servants, yes, but they were ladies first. He saw no reason not to refer to them as such.

“As far as the children go, I’ll remind you that it was _your_ idea to offer your hospitality to the cause.”

He sputtered. “Oh dear, of course. How could I forget? After _you_ brought up the subject, at which point _you_ spoke at length about the poor children in harm’s way and the plight of this awful war, before _you_ subtly pointed out the size of this house and all my extra room…yes, at that point I do believe the idea was birthed in my head.” He gave her a wry look. “A good professor knows the difference between original thought and coerced conclusion.”

“Coerced? I think not. I merely offered encouragement to a dear friend.”

“Oh? Well in that case, I suppose I must forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” she muttered, shaking her head.

He grinned outright at her, which prompted a light slap on his forearm. He yelped theatrically. “Now, now! I’m not as young as I used to be!”

“And what does that make me?!”

“A beautifully mature woman who has admirably maintained her strength,” he said, rubbing at his arm.

Even with the teasing tone, she knew him too well not to hear the honesty in the complement. Her cheeks tinged with the slightest bit of pink.

He took pity on her. “But we’ve gotten quite off the subject, which is to say, those four. You must admit that the whole idea is quite mad. What do I know about caring for children?”

She cleared her throat and conceded, “You are somewhat lacking in practical experience, true. But you have a gift for teaching, Professor.”

“Certainly, at a university level. But these are so young.” He watched as the eldest, Peter, grabbed little Lucy around the waist and twirled her around while she squealed in delight. “I’m certain the littlest one was afraid of me the second she laid eyes on me.”

“Well of course she was.” Polly giggled rather girlishly, reaching over to muss his hair. “There must be a hundred mirrors in this house; don’t you ever look into one?”

He huffed. “Someone once told me that eccentricity was the mark of a great thinker.”

“Someone, hmm?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I suppose talking to oneself is eccentric as well.”

Digory crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. This made her giggle again before she leaned against his shoulder companionably. He relented, chuckling himself as they turned their attention back to the Pevensie kids.

“Really though,” Polly said after a long moment. “Things seem to be going quite well with them.”

And they did. That is, until the younger boy was abruptly yelling something they couldn’t make out, attempting to stand toe-to-toe with his taller brother, anger clear on his features even from the distance. Peter’s fists clinched at his sides but he kept his voice down as he said something back. Edmund turned and stalked off.

Polly sighed and amended, “Well, except perhaps for that one.”

The scene and similar ones were not uncommon. Digory shook his head. “That boy has some deep hurt festering beneath all that bluster.”

He watched Edmund until he disappeared into the house. When he glanced back at Polly he found she was instead thoughtfully watching him.

“What?” he asked, bewildered.

“Most people would look at that boy and see nothing but a troublemaker in need of sharp discipline,” she said. “You’ll be good for them. And perhaps them for you, as well.”

“I hear an ‘I told you so’ in there,” he grumbled.

“Well I did not say it, so that must be your common sense talking.” She eyed him. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re fretting over.”

While he was mostly joking with her, there was an element of truth to his concern. He was not a recluse, but he did not regularly share his life on any intimate level. And he’d certainly never been responsible for young lives. “You could extend you stay,” he suggested hopefully. “The children love you. The girls especially. What do I know about girls?”

“Very little, no matter if they’re little or not,” she teased gently.

He tilted his head in easy acquiescence. He’d never married, never had daughters or granddaughters of his own. There’d been a few failed attempts at courting as a young man, but he’d given them up rather easily. He had his ladies of course, and other casual interactions, but the only deep female relationships in his life had been with his mother and Polly.

 “I will try to return in a few weeks. But in the meantime, I’ve a visit to my own grandchildren to make. Young children who, by the way, quite adore you,” she added pointedly.

And he loved her family in turn. Her husband, God rest his soul, had been a great friend to Digory. Their children and grandchildren served as a sort of surrogate family for him. But he’d never spent extended amounts of time with them. He said, “And they are lovely. But they’ve spent mere hours with me, always in your company. It is hardly the same.”

“Perhaps not. It is a good thing, then, that you’ve always loved new experiences.”

She had him there; he could not argue it. He’d loved traveling to new places, trying new foods and learning new things, meeting strangers and challenging students.

“As the saying goes, the good Lord works in mysterious ways,” Polly said.

Digory smiled. “You and I well know that, better than most.”

She nodded. “So perhaps these particular children are here with you, now, for some particular reason.”

His gaze drifted back to the three remaining on the lawn. “Yes, perhaps,” he said faintly. He could not deny that he felt some kinship with them, some untenable connection stirring in his soul. This too was likely part of his discomfort; though he did not understand it, he felt as if some awesome privilege and responsibility were taking root.

oOo

A few nights after Polly’s departure found Digory seated cross-legged on the floor of his spare room, staring earnestly at his wardrobe.

The elder two children had come to him with grave faces just a short few hours before, concerned for their sister’s sanity. She claimed she’d found a magical world, they said, accessible through the upstairs wardrobe.

His heart beat faster now just remembering it. In the moment he was quite certain it had skipped a beat or two. His old body was unaccustomed to such a flood of adrenaline; he was thankful it had not given out on him. Good thing he was fairly fit. Still, his knees creaked as he pushed himself up off the floor and stepped closer to the object of his scrutiny. His fingers drifted up without conscious direction, skimming reverently over the intricately carved wood.

To think, after all this time. _Narnia_.

He was not at all certain he’d handled the situation with the children well. When he’d logically deduced that Lucy must be telling the truth, Peter and Susan had looked at him as if he was just as mad as they feared her to be. He was sure Polly could have found a better way to say it, but he was just as sure that the tale was true. Little Lucy Pevensie had found a gateway.

And Edmund too, it would seem, whether he would admit it or not. This did not surprise Digory so much. Lucy was the sort to fit in fantastically in Narnia, but Edmund was the sort to _need_ such a journey.

His fingers, still wandering without conscious direction, had found their way to the door handle. He did not really expect it to be there. Still, he could not resist holding his breath as he eased the wardrobe open.

There was no strange light, no blast of cool air. He nudged the coats aside but found no trees. It was only a wardrobe. While it might be a gateway, it was not for him.

Disappointment threatened to dampen his excitement, but only for a moment. A certain calm came over him, the warmth of assurance of a greater presence. He’d lived life here in this world, sought and found knowledge, discovered a Lion who was also a Lamb. Though his heart yearned for Narnia, his place was still here for now.

“I’ve waited so many years,” he whispered, a smile curving his lips. “I suppose I can wait a bit longer.”

He knew now that Polly had been right; he was in a unique position to understand whatever would happen next with these children. He doubted this was just a couple of jaunts into the forest. No, whatever was happening here, Digory had the distinct impression that Aslan was not done with it yet.

oOo

It was at the breakfast table some time later when he realized abruptly that something rather significant must have happened.

Digory was always the first one seated. This morning, Edmund was the first to join him. That in itself was unusual; the younger boy often slunk in after the others, eyes downcast and keeping to himself unless it was to say something surly. But today he came straight to Digory and offered him a handshake and a cheery “Good morning, Professor.”

Digory just blinked at him in surprise for a long moment before he remembered his own manners. “Yes, and good morning to you, lad,” he finally said after Edmund had found his seat.

When Susan arrived next, Edmund jumped up to pull out her chair for her. Again, Digory blinked at him. Susan, however, acted as if nothing was amiss in this behavior.

As the others arrived and Margaret brought in breakfast, Digory found that he hardly noticed the food. He was too busy watching the children and mentally cataloguing the oddities.

For example, there had been a door-slamming row between Peter and Edmund just the night before. But now, there was no evidence of any animosity. As Digory watched they good-naturedly teased back and forth; Edmund saying something cheeky and Peter reaching to tweak his nose. Edmund not only tolerated it, he grinned outright. It was as if a great brotherly affection had been awakened from some deep place they’d both quite forgotten up until now.

He also got the impression they’d all like to tell him something. Little Lucy was nearly bursting with it, but she held her tongue. Ivy and Margaret were flitting in and out. The four children held their composure on whatever their excitement was based upon. In fact they all maintained a certain poise that was curious. They’d been well-mannered from the start, but this was a different level, an ingrained ease.

A thought occurred to Digory that he could not shake off: it was uncannily like he was suddenly sharing his table with adults.

oOo

It was later that same day when he opened his study door to find all four of them standing there. “Might we have a word, Professor?” Peter asked.

“Of course, lad,” Digory said as he ushered them in. They all crammed onto the sofa together, almost as if they’d been dared to see if they would fit. They did, though there was some elbow knocking and knee rubbing. None of them seemed to mind.

Digory sat on the edge of his seat, eying them with ill-concealed expectation.

The others deferred to Peter, who was seated on the end closest to him. “We owe you an apology, sir, and perhaps an explanation if you’re willing to entertain it.”

“Go on,” Digory encouraged.

“I’m afraid that, come winter, when you go looking for the warm coats in the wardrobe in the spare room, you’ll find four missing. We borrowed them, and we lost them. And I don’t think we can get them back.”

Digory allowed his gaze to wander down the couch before returning to Peter. “I care little for the coats, but I would like to hear the tale of just how and _where_ you lost them.”

And whether it was the words or some twinkle in his eye, something tipped them off and realization clearly struck. It was Lucy who spoke up. “You’ve been there too, haven’t you Professor?”

“Been where, my dear?” he asked coyly.

A smile lit her face. “Narnia, of course.”

He could not help but return that smile. He gave a single nod.

And with that, it was as if a dam had burst. They began to tell their story, excitement practically palpable in the room. He listened carefully, with baited breath and a pounding heart that made him feel alive again in a way he’d nearly forgotten.

His breath stuttered, however, when they told of the Witch. And though he told himself that it had been many Narnian years and there were probably many witches by now (no way it could be the same woman, just no possibility…) the fear lodged itself in his mind as he heard of the terrors she’d wrought.

He managed to put it aside, even as they told of Aslan’s death at her hand. She was not, he knew, the important part of the story. That was the children themselves—the kings and queens—and of course the ultimate King, Aslan himself. Digory had tears in his eyes as they related his rising and the reversal of death and the Witch’s ultimate defeat.

It did not even occur to him to doubt them. He could see the relief in their eyes at that; the excitement of having someone to talk to about their adventures.

“Will you tell us your story, Professor?” Susan asked.

“Yes. But not yet, for it is not just _my_ story.”

oOo

Digory grew used to the easy rhythm of the days, enjoying the time with the children and the endless stories they had to tell. There were great tales of heroism, humorous tales of learning diplomacy; nostalgic tales of creatures and friends. He encouraged them to talk with him about it as much as they wished and was gratified when they used him as an audience.

One topic that did not seem to come up was that of the Witch. Having heard what she did to Edmund—what she did to Narnia and to Aslan—he was not surprised that they did not wish to remember her. He was loath to remind them of that darkness. But, much as he knew he should put it aside permanently, the issue began to nag at him. His heart knew she was unimportant; his brain was now trying to tell him differently.

One day, he finally gave in to his need to know.

He’d dug out an old hunting bow that had belonged to his grandfather and brought it to Susan. He stood at her side observing as her siblings ran about setting up targets and retrieving arrows. She was almost frighteningly good.

“Did you fight in many battles, my dear?”

“Oh, no. I have never cared for the violence and much preferred to stay at the Cair,” she said, which fit far better with his impression of the Gentle Queen and of Susan Pevensie herself. The she let fly an arrow which struck fast and true to a tree clear across the yard. He arched an eyebrow as she continued, “Most of my battle experience was at Beruna.”

“The final battle with the Witch.”

“Yes. Though she, of course, was not felled by any arrow.”

“Of course,” he murmured. Then, as casually as he could manage, he asked, “Did she have a name, this Witch? I don’t recall any of you mentioning it.”

“She was mostly referred to simply as the Queen or the White Witch. But her true name was Jadis.”

Though he had half-expected it, it still came as a shock. She may as well have shot him for the way the name pierced his heart.

“Professor?” She was now looking at him closely, a hand hovering near his elbow.

He plastered on a smile; tried to pretend his breathing had not just gone utterly ragged. “A magnificent display, my dear,” he deflected, gesturing to the bow. “I will leave you to it.” And though he felt her concerned eyes on him as he walked back to the house, she let him go without a fuss.

He retreated to his bedroom. He did not know quite what to feel. So he got on his knees, and he prayed. And he wept.

oOo

He was granted a certain peace about the issue, able to tuck thoughts of Jadis to the back of his mind and go on with his time with the children for several days until the day of Polly’s next arrival drew near.

While he had always looked forward to Polly’s visits, this one brought him mixed emotions. While he desperately desired her company and support, he dreaded the revival of old fears and bad memories. Moreover, he dreaded telling the children (kings and queens, he reminded himself) of the origins of the evil that had touched them so personally.

True to his prediction that they would recognize anyone who’d shared their connection to Narnia, Lucy immediately squealed and seized Polly’s hand when she entered the house. “You’re the one, aren’t you? The one who shares the Professor’s story. You’ve been to Narnia, too.”

Polly jerked in surprise, turning a shocked look upon Digory. He shrugged and said, “That ‘I told you so’ is apparently in order, after all.”

They all sat together, and the children retold their story to Polly. She sat close to Digory’s side, near enough that he felt her stiffen when the witch was mentioned. “Jadis,” he put in softly, too low for the children to hear. Polly met his eyes, heartbreak and sympathy bleeding in to her shock. But she said nothing, merely reengaging with the children’s story, asking questions here and there.

When they’d told the core of their adventures, they were eager to hear of Digory and Polly’s. With a glance at him, Polly took the lead. She told of his Uncle Andrew, of the rings and the wood, of a visit to a dying world. She described it as the children sat spellbound. She mentioned the woman who awakened from a statue and clung to them as they returned home.

She carefully did not, however, mention how that awakening had taken place, or who the woman was. She simply called her evil, and when the story moved into Narnia, she mentioned quickly that Aslan had dealt with her, and moved on.

Digory sat back, mind whirring, content to let her tell of the magnificence of Narnia’s birth, of Aslan, and the tale of their quest for the apple.

The four siblings asked questions and exclaimed happily over their shared experiences. They did not hone in on the Witch. Only Susan glanced at him with a calculating look, but she held her own council on the matter and said nothing.

And it was a truly magnificent story, one of which Jadis of Charn was really a small part in a grand picture, a necessary catalyst for greatness to triumph. With a bit of effort he tucked her into the back of his mind once more, enjoying the moment.

Only later, alone with Polly, did he allow the issue to resurface.

“I must decide what to tell them,” he said.

“I don’t think you need to tell them anything. She is over and done, Digory. Let her die and leave her in the past.”

“Good advice, to be sure.” He chewed on his bottom lip, still pensive. “But I’ve the sense that there is still something to be taught here. Professor’s instinct, if you will.”

“Fair enough, Professor.” She poked him in the chest. “But there’ll be no beating yourself up over it, understood?”

He rubbed at his chest. “Of course not; I’ve got you for that!”

She glared at his theatrics. “And you’d best appreciate that blessing.”

“More than I could ever express,” he said fondly.

oOo

He resolved to put the matter aside until such time as it felt right.

He nearly waited too long. Though he knew all such peaceful times must draw to a close, he was still taken aback when the day for the children to leave drew near.

The siblings were in the midst of packing, readying for the train ride the next morning, when Digory stopped Edmund in the hallway. “Might I have a moment or two, my boy?”

“Of course, Professor,” Edmund answered readily, respectfully, setting down a suitcase he’d been transporting for one of his sisters. Such a different boy from the one who’d first crossed his threshold, Digory reflected.

They sat in his office where Betty had left a tray prepared. Digory’s hands shook as he handed Edmund a cup of tea so he forewent his own, clasping his fingers tightly in his lap.

Edmund peered at him in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I must confess that my nerves are getting the best of me.”

“Whatever for?”

“I fear that is not all I have to confess. I must beg your forgiveness, Edmund.”

Edmund looked positively dumbfounded now. “What?”

“I should perhaps offer it to the High King instead, or at least as well. But I feel quite certain it is you who needs to hear it.”

Edmund straightened instinctively at Peter’s title, the mantle of the king settling on him with the realization that this was a Narnian conversation. It was like watching him mature in the space of a moment, a still remarkable thing to witness. “Then please, sir, do go on.”

“I fear Polly left out a rather large detail of our adventures. She had the best of intentions, but, I feel it must be told.

“We did indeed travel to Charn, that awful dying world, and we did accidentally bring back with us a horrible woman who was eventually taken care of by Aslan. But that ‘eventually’ covered a very long time. For you see, that woman was a terrible Queen with knowledge of magic. She was called Jadis.”

Edmund gasped. Though he had perhaps suspected, it was clearly still a shock.

Digory hurried on before he lost his nerve. “And she did not simply awaken with our presence. There was a cryptic poem and a bell to be rung and it would have been far simpler and smarter to have left it alone. Polly knew that; she tried to talk sense to me.” He drew in a tremulous breath, remembering the moment as if it were yesterday. The shame of it tried to claw its way back up his throat. “It was I, in my hubris and careless impetuousness, who awakened her.”

As Edmund sat in stunned silence, Digory focused his eyes out the window. “I thought then, and I still must say, that I have never known a woman so beautiful,” he confessed.

“I thought her beautiful too. In a different sort of way that was hard to describe.”

Digory nodded, drawing his eyes back to the boy. “We both found too late that it was a terrible, cold sort of beauty.”

“Yes,” Edmund agreed in a hushed tone.

“If not for me, she would have remained as stone and likely perished in her own world. So, you see, it was I who brought evil to Narnia. And for that…” Digory trailed off, swallowing hard before he could continue. “Well, it is a blessed thing that Aslan forgives. Because I could never atone for that. But I do offer you my humblest apology.”

Edmund thought for a long moment before he answered. “I think…well, I do not claim to have great wisdom. But I believe that evil creeps in everywhere, doesn’t it? If it had not been her, it would have been someone else. If you had not been the catalyst, something else would have done so.”

“I believe that too, lad. While it is of some comfort, it still hurts my heart to know I caused such grief.”

Edmund reached out and touched his knee gently. “Professor, you have been nothing but kind to me. Even Before, when I was so beastly and did not deserve it. I don’t feel that you owe me an apology. But if it will help your heart, I do forgive you.”

Digory took his hand and squeezed it once. He found he could not speak, but he offered a heartfelt nod in response.

Edmund glanced away, tears shimmering in his own eyes. “I had much time to think about her. I admit that for some of it I was haunted by her. But the truth is, if I had not met her—and thus met Aslan through my folly—I would have remained as I was. I would not go back to that for anything. So I suppose I am grateful. Only in light of the evil could I appreciate the good.”

Digory cleared his throat. “You have great wisdom, my boy.”

Edmund smiled. “I have only what Aslan gifted to me. And that includes my very life.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Edmund spoke again. “Do you ever wonder why? Why _us,_ I mean. You get to save your Mother, I get to be transformed. Why did we get to go to Narnia when so many others could desperately use the same opportunity?”

“I spent a good time wondering about that and eventually took to studying it.”

“Studying what, exactly?”

Digory stood and made his way to his overflowing bookshelf. He carefully selected one and brought it over. He handed it to Edmund, watching as the boy traced the embossed lettering on the front. “That is for you; keep it. I have others. And while I’m far from having all the answers, I do have a hint about this one. Try Luke 15, and go from there.”

oOo

The next day, he bid the children a fond farewell. Edmund had the Bible tucked beneath his arm as he gave Digory a warm hug and handshake.

Polly stood at his side as he watched them go, and he reached out and took her hand. As her fingers curled into his, he was comforted by her smile and by the assurance that they would all meet again.

oOo

_“What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance._ _(Luke 15:4-7)*_

**** _"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep." (John 10:11)*_

oOo

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _The Chronicles of Narnia_ do not belong to me. I make no money from this story.
> 
> *Opening quote is from “Be Born in Me,” sung by Francesca Batistelli. Ending Biblical references are from the English Standard version.


End file.
